Life Is What Happens...

“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.”
John Lennon, “Beautiful Boy, (Darling Boy),” 1980

I was planning on staying late at work Thursday night, loading Blogger with photos taken during my previous visit to the lake in preparations for upcoming vacation posts next week, when I can’t access a computer with my photos.

You would see images of my lake a sunset and the beautiful view I often see. The town in which I vacation that turned Alpine in the ‘60s in an attempt to build tourism (fortunately or unfortunately, that was somewhat successful). The farmers market I where I enjoy shopping, the sheep and fiber farm I was planning to visit and whatever else might catch my fancy.

I would do my best to capture the fireworks shot off directly across from my cottage and if the photos weren’t too bad, share them with you.

I may still get there for a day or two near the end of next week, but this Saturday I will be waiting in a hospital surgical lounge as the 22-year-old boy we love to bits (yes, they’re always boys, even when they’re young me) has surgery to remove his thyroid and the lymph nodes, where the cancer has spread.

We’re told it’s the best cancer to have, if you have to have cancer. It’s treatable. There are wonderful success stories. Terrific percentages. Small recurrence rate. This is good. Better than good. It gives us great hope. We are optimistic and fully expect the universe to cooperate, both for a successful surgery and thorough recovery.

I share this mostly to say thank you to the many friends and family who already know about this and have expressed their concern, good wishes, prayers, positive energy, support and encouragement and offers to help in any way they can.

I have always been blessed with amazing friends who have hung by me through the best and worst of times. We have shed tears over lost loves and shared our grief over lost loved ones who have left us far too soon. My friends (and I include family when I say “friends”) listen patiently to my frustrations and they share in my joys. I hope I do equally as well in listening to them.

When I first began blogging about seven months ago, one of the things that impressed me from viewing others’ was the sense of community and support. Even in a short comment, one gets this sense of energy from afar that is, if for only one brief moment, thinking about you – that is, perhaps, touched by something you have written or a photo or piece of art displayed. They share that thought and it is energizing.

Through reading many blogs I have seen other readers “step up to the plate” offering encouragement, assistance, prayers and support, and I’ve always thought this might be one of the most amazing elements of the blog, something that transcends having a forum for sharing our activities, hobbies, and talents.

We skip from blog to blog, but occasionally may stop during our day and think about someone we “know” who is going through a tough time. I know I do. I may worry a bit about them. Or, I may think of something that we saw that simply made my hearts sing. A recipe we must try, a decorating idea that I’d like to incorporate or a technique that is new.

In the course of commenting and replying to comments, I’ve come to know some of you off-blog a wee bit, and we may have shared thoughts or feelings. Some of you know what’s going on in my topsy-turvy world right now, and you have been “so there.”

I want to tell you that your support means so very much to Rick and me, and to our 21st century anti-nuclear family that will find Greg's mom and dad, stepdad and me, and brother as we wait on Saturday. Your good wishes, prayers, positive energy and helpful stories from your own experience help ground me. I carry this with me in my heart as I go through my day, and I know you will be there with me in spirit on Saturday morning.

We are encouraged by all we read and know about this type of cancer. This “boy” really is a young man and he has become even more so since getting this diagnosis. It brings with it a loss of innocence, a way of changing things that will never be the same, and this is often as much an emotional shift as it is a physical one. I know this, because I’m old. I lost that a long while ago. I didn’t want him to lose that innocence because of this.

We know we will be fine, and I don’t want those of you to read this to worry too much about this.
But oh, all the positive energy you can send will help give us strength.

Believe me, we are most grateful.